Shame

Last week in my Creative Writing course, we took a field trip to the Dallas Museum of Art to discuss various pieces which reflect biblical imagery. Then, we were asked to pick any piece from the Museum's vast collection and write about it. I knew before I even arrived at the DMA which painting I would select. I have attached it below as well as the short piece I wrote. I hope as Christmas approaches you all find time to reflect on what Christ did for you and what he asks of you.

The second floor of the Dallas Museum of Art beckons me every time I visit. I know if I look at the piece red cheeks and escaping tears will expose my swelling shame. Yet, like the ascetics of old, I proceed to the Early European gallery to receive my beating.

While the father points heavenward knowing his mission, his eyes gaze downward upon his pale, unblemished son. A century of barrenness culminates with his only begotten, but Abraham’s good God demands the spilling of Isaac’s blood. And, he obeys. He obeys. Abraham obeys. Here comes the shame.

While Abraham was willing to place his son upon the altar, I grumble at the thought of placing my money, my time, or even my image. Instead, the savory aroma of hedonistic incense burns on the altars I erect for the gods of convenience and pleasure. By comparison, Abraham’s God asks me for so little, and he constantly receives what he asks: so little.

Yet, after sufficiently despairing over my disobedience, I swallow the gathered spit, wipe away the streaks left by tears, and remember that the reckoning of righteousness comes by faith, not sacrifice.

Mourning

This semester I am enrolled in a creative writing course…stop laughing, I’m serious. And, despite whatever preconceived notions you have about a creative writing course in seminary, this class has given me the opportunity to express many deep, theological convictions in ways previously foreign to me. One such opportunity came when our class was asked to reflect upon the Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington D.C. Not having had the opportunity to visit this landmark, my thoughts focused instead on the idea of mourning loss. It was in my preparation for that writing assignment that I realized our society has lost the ability to grieve well. Throughout scripture mentioning of sackcloth and ashes, wailing, renting of clothing, and utter despair accompany bereavement. Now funerals exhibit starched clothing, manicured appearances, and hushed whimpers as we attempt to add dignity to suffering. It is my firm conviction that mourning plays a purposeful and redemptive role in the life of a believer (c.f. Ecclesiastes 7:4; and verses which speak on suffering, Romans 8:17 in particular) and we would be wise to follow in the footsteps of our spiritual ancestors who grieved openly, loudly, and genuinely. Rejoice with those who rejoice, but, please, remember to WEEP with those who WEEP.

Silent Grief by Nika Spaulding

Hurried tears and gentle sobs escape the young widow.

Induced smiles conceal the writhing hands of a bereaved mother.

Somebody lied to them, to us.

“Dignity emerges in restraint,” paralyzes their sorrow.

Etched names satisfy our need to commend.

But, who receives the honor?

Consideration killed grief.

Reverence excised wailing, but left a wall.

Silence replaced weeping

Sackcloth exchanged for starched suits

Where is your sting O Death?

We forgot how it feels.

For Baby J

For those of you who know me, you knew this day was coming: a blog about my niece. I simply had to. But, since I know you all have endured my relentless reminders of how amazing she is, I figured I would post this awfully, embarrassing video of me with her to offer as a small sacrifice. Of course, the video has purpose. As I’ve watched this video repeatedly, I’m constantly struck by the frailty of my niece and her sheer dependence on me to hold her. I’m not even brave enough to type about the results that could occur if I were to fail on my end.

Now perhaps it’s because I’m in seminary, or perhaps it’s because I was holding her around Christmas time but this video also makes me think of Jesus (yes, you should find it humorous that I am singing such a ridiculous song and am still reminded of my Lord and Savior). However, the concept of an all-mighty God who transcends time and space coming to Earth in the flesh as a mere babe simply astounds me.

Jesus, our only worthy sacrifice on behalf of sins, was once swaddled and held by human hands—the same human hands that needed him to go to cross because they were covered in filth which comes by way of the flesh.

As I sometimes think about my niece, there are so many “what ifs” that plague my mind—what if she gets hurt? What if she gets abducted? What if my sweet Lord takes her home soon? (Even the thought of it brings tears to my eyes as I type.) Then I think about Jesus and the same “what ifs” could have applied. However, the implications are so different it’s hard to imagine them on the same plane. What if Christ would have been murdered under Herod’s decree? What if Jesus would have been stoned by the Jews prior to the cross? What if Jesus would have been trampled by a crowd?… what if? what if? what if? Would he not have still atoned for my sins? Would their still be wrath stored for me? Would he not be coming back for us all?

Then one word always hushes the racing hypothetical situations: sovereignty.

Sovereignty. God’s got this. All of this. He had Jesus, and He has my niece.

I simply cannot fathom being in God’s place sending my son down to earth to be cared for my humanity. He’s seen our wretchedness, our evil, our reckless pursuit of sin and yet placed His Son in our midst to be cared for by one of us: one of the harlots. Of course, I cannot fathom this act because I’m not God. This obvious and understood statement brings me to my point: although I am not God, that does not excuse me from trusting His plan and work in my life and the lives of those around me. I want so much for my niece to live a life free from harm, pain, or discomfort; yet, I know that this life will bring her hurt, sorrow and even despair at times. My comfort is in knowing that God was trustworthy with His son, even orchestrating the salvation of the world through wicked humanity.

Although Jesus was cared for by human parents, His heavenly Father was always calling the shots. The same is true for my niece. God’s got her. What better place for her to be?

Jeremiah 10:23 LORD, I know that people’s lives are not their own; it is not for them to direct their steps.

Next Stop: Heaven

Hey Friends,

Just some thoughts from a recent spiritual retreat I took.